A certain day in February is often considered to be a time for lavishing gifts on a romantic beloved. I like the idea of extending it beyond romance—there have been years where friends and I have exchanged gifts, a year where I sent friends art for Valentine’s Day, a year where friends and I went ice skating and treated ourselves to dinner—and also turning inward, particularly in these isolated times.

I recently got in touch with three herbalists whose work I love—both for the products themselves and for their care for others being incorporated into their business practices. We talked via email about how they became interested in herbs, balancing science with intuition, thoughts on healing and healers, what makes them feel nourished, and more.

Val Alcorn is the founder of Woodspell Apothecary, a shop of (mostly) bitters made with plants she grows and forages. This past summer, she started offering product discounts to people of color, and free bulk herbs once a year to BIPOC herbalists. 

Aviva Skye Tilson is the founder of Apis Apotheca, a skincare line made specifically to help out damaged skin (but with benefits for all skin types). She grows the plants she uses and introduced the Common Cupboard this past summer, which offers free and sliding scale tinctures with “all proceeds being donated to local organizations whose purpose is to create safety and abundance for black and brown communities.” 

Marisa Hall is the founder of Augustine Herbals, a small-batch apothecary of tinctures, oxymels, elixirs, and salves. She has recently started offering free herbal medicine to black people. 

Abigail Bereola: What is your love story with herbs? What drew you in?

Val Alcorn: For me, it’s always been there. My grandparents live on a lake at the tip of Michigan’s lower peninsula and growing up visiting a place like that was magical. From a young age, I noticed everything—the individual blades of grass swaying in the wind, the silent songs of waves on the beach, and so on. They spoke to me, but I kind of turned away from it for a while to try and be “normal” as I grew older. But, as these things are, you can’t get away from your calling. I moved to Colorado after graduating college, as I was very unsatisfied with my desk job at a big corporation. Out there, I saw plants and the land in a whole new light, or rather, the light I saw them in as a child. And I began to hear their stories again. As I began to work with them on a medicinal level, they called me home to Michigan and this is where I am now!! More or less :)

Aviva Skye Tilson: Mine started with being a veggie and dairy farmer, and feeling a gradual, very insistent gravitation towards the weeds we were pulling—I’d ask if I could collect the yellow dock and dandelions we were taking out of the veggie rows and the head farmers would look at me like I was crazy and say, “Uh, ya?” The hedgerows filled with wild rose and raspberry drew me in and I’d always be the end-of-day volunteer to go pick the culinary herbs for the CSA, even when I was exhausted. Clipping sage, rosemary, and thyme was the best part of my day.

Marisa Hall: When I was little, I spent so much time in my grandmother’s garden in northern California, mostly when I was home sick from school. I grew up with my mom, and my grandmother’s house was the default when she was working, and I got sick a lot as a kid. So, my grandmother would be doing her thing and I would lay in the grass and eat strawberries while she hung laundry on her clothesline, or sit under her fig tree and eat the fruit, or sit by the fence and eat the berries. The sun and the fruit were so healing for me and loved me back in a way that’s stuck with me. 

Abigail: So lovely! I appreciate the connections throughout your stories even though they’re different—slowing down and noticing what can be easy to disregard when life is more fast-paced. Do you consider yourselves to be healers or think of working with herbs as healing?

Val: I think I am my own healer. I think the only way for anyone to truly “heal” is to go on that journey themselves. There are people that can be guides (which is more of what I consider myself to others), but the actual process of healing—especially in chronic cases—can be so emotional and traumatic and painful that only that person going through it can truly be considered the healer. I realized this when I had to deal with some major chronic gut issues that lasted years. There were times when it felt like I was just at the bottom and there was no way out. But to be able to pull myself out of it when I had no strength or energy or willpower, that was one of the hardest things I’ve done. And that’s when I knew I was a healer, and everyone who pulls themselves out of a situation like that is also a healer.

Abigail: I love that what you said can be applied to both physical healing and emotional healing—and I love the idea of the potential that everybody has to be their own healer.

Aviva: I do identify as a healer. I work with science and tradition in my practice but have increasingly been giving due credence to the element of intuition that I often manage to write off or discount, and being able to tune in and listen to that little voice has helped me be a better healer, farmer, friend, and witch. Herbs are powerful beings that have the potential to tip the scales towards or away from balance. Knowing what you need and when is important, since herbs are complex and some are very potent. I believe growing herbs is just as powerful as consuming them, and always emphasize how healing growing a garden is, no matter how small or rudimentary.

Abigail: I appreciate the balance of science with intuition. I’m wondering if you might be willing to say more about that?

Aviva: I think it’s important to be informed about the ways in which traditional usage of herbs has been backed up by science because we are living in a world dominated by a paradigm where most people will only give something a chance if there is “data” behind it—I won’t pass judgement qualifying that as entirely good or entirely bad, but that is how it is at this moment in time. I think knowing the science helps comfort people even when something deeper in their bones has already told them to turn back to an ancestral way of healing, and intuition comes in at that point when we realize that all of us have co-evolved with these plants on a DNA and spiritual level. You can call it a hunch or a gut feeling or a craving or a dream—intuition can be any and all of those things and learning to listen is really the hard part. At least, it was for me. Every being has the potential to access that resource if they are open to it. 

Marisa: I wouldn’t consider myself a healer, per se. I think that healing is the work of an individual and herbs are one tool to aid in what can be an incredibly complex and labor-intensive personal process. I think “healer” is often used as a container or abbreviation of sorts, but has the danger of disempowering whoever is on the receiving end of an experience. My practice is focused around providing space and framing for integrating plants to help clear the way for deeper healing and more easeful movement, and my personal healing journey continues to be holistic. I am a strong advocate for exploring multiple modalities to find the right combination of things for ongoing support.

Val: Yes! I think a great way to describe what we do is to “hold space” for others, so that they can heal themselves.

Abigail: I definitely hear that and agree that herbs can be one part of a wider support network. Can you say more about “healer” being used as an abbreviation? 

Marisa: For sure! I think maybe abbreviation isn’t quite the right word. Maybe loaded is a better word, or coded. I find myself wanting to get more specific, but do think that for people outside of the world of more esoteric healing modalities, it can be an easily identifiable point of entry when seeking support or insight outside of western medicine, for example. I recently launched a directory called Queer Healers with a few other folks with that exact point in mind—to send a signal to say, “Hey, we’re here!” to anyone out there who may be looking for a queer tarot reader or astrologer or bodyworker or akashic record reading, but may not know what terms to use. It’s a landing spot, and from there, the nuance and range of modalities really blossom. 

Abigail: What has working with plants and herbs taught you about: (choose one or two) generosity / intuition / ancestry / community?

Val: If I have to choose just one, I suppose it would be intuition because I think it was and sometimes still is one of my biggest challenges. When I started working with herbs, I would get so caught up in the details of every measurement, constituent, action, energetic, how to harvest, when to harvest, etc., that I would immediately overwhelm myself. And this applied to many aspects of my life, not just working with plants. Everything changed, though, when I learned that I could give myself permission to play, to trust my instincts, to listen to the plants and not just the textbooks. When I was able to give into that side of myself I suddenly felt much more free and even more productive. I’ve been able to come up with much more effective formulas by knowing how to balance my intuition with science. It has also led me to be able to make much more confident decisions throughout the rest of my life as well.

Aviva: Plants have taught me to ride the ebb and flow of the seasons in a way I never had access to before, and the changing tides of generosity as seasons shift. The heady rush of spring, the wild abundance of summer and autumn, and the austerity of winter are all framed by what plants are available to me at those times and what I have to do to care for them. What else could connect me more to my ancestors than this way of life?

Marisa: I think that plants are such a wonderful example and embodiment of all of these things. I have learned so many epic lessons about generosity and reciprocity from plants. Not to mention intuition. 

On generosity: Plants are pretty chatty in my experience. If you are paying attention and work with them mindfully, it comes through in what they offer at every stage. This lesson has shown up in every other relational aspect of my life and I’m so grateful for it. 

On intuition: For me, it’s really been about listening closely and working to steady the chatter in my mind so that I can fully understand what’s happening. Listening with mind and body. These themes, all so intertwined by the practice of slowing down, will come up again and again and I’ve received so many messages, especially within the last year, about going with what feels right.

Abigail: The concept of nourishment is something that’s been coming up a lot for me lately, but with regard to experiences, rather than food. What makes you feel nourished? How do you take care to incorporate those things into your life?

Aviva: I have been turning a light back onto all of these other creative outlets that tend to fall by the wayside when I get too wrapped up in “business” and they have been nourishing me on a very deep level like nothing else can. I’m a musician—classically trained in violin and opera but always preferring to play in rock bands—and making music again has really transformed my outlook on everything else. I’ve also started doing research for a book I want to maybe slowly, carefully think about writing and that is a big, wild, exciting, brand new thing for me. They both feed me in ways that are very different to herbs and gardening, yet it seems the more creative I am with one area of my life, the more it spills over into everything else, including my “work.”  

Marisa: I feel nourished by the experiences and sensations that make feel really decadent and delicious, so I try to find time to really just be in moments of pleasure, moments of joy, and approach those situations under the assumption and with the knowing that I am already whole and I’m not doing something to be complete or edit who I am or where I’m at. I love taking baths that has been something that has left me feeling lighter and full. I’m really enjoying kitchen experiments and opportunities to play in ways that are super low stakes and I’m grateful to be able to do that pretty often.Being outside also always leaves me feeling held, so I have tried to integrate that as much as possible by taking slow walks around my neighborhood or going hiking when that feels accessible.

Val: As a person whose love language is quality time, I can relate! There are moments in life, whether I’m with loved ones or loved plants, that time seems to freeze for just a moment, like a silent snapshot of that precise second. I can remember those moments so vividly years later as if they just occured. Those are the moments when I feel closest to the truth/creation. It’s almost as if I step outside of my body for a moment and see everything for what it is. It’s a difficult feeling to explain, but maybe you understand.

Nourishment for me is carving out spaces of time and place for my creativity. I make sure my space is clean, I light candles, make a cup of tea (chamomile at the moment), and read or paint. It’s almost like carving out sanctuary from everything else. I also receive nourishment from connecting with others. I mentioned in the little voice memo that one of my favorite things to do in the summer is give strangers random bouquets of flowers from my garden. The surprise and joy on their face is something you can’t find in many other ways. And even if it doesn’t change or heal anything, the world always seems a little lighter after those interactions.

Abigail: What are your (current) favorite plants to work with and why?

Aviva: Winter always has me craving oats and nettles and I always add something lemony to them to lift the blend—I have a lot of lemongrass to get through, so that is what I’ve used lately. But if I had grown and dried more lemon verbena, that would be there instead since it is my absolute favorite uplifting winter tea and I never seem to grow enough of it to last me.  Maybe this year I will. :)

Val: Right now, I am heavily devoted to white pine (Pinus strobus), mostly because it is one of the only medicines alive right now in the North, but also because it is just one of my favorite medicines of all time. There is nothing like laying underneath the swaying branches of a white pine. The peace that comes over me when I spend time with pine is unlike any other plant. It also is such a versatile medicine. The needles, bark, resin, and even cones can all be used for food and medicine year round. It’s invaluable in climates like this.

Abigail: Thank you all so much for taking time out of your days to answer my questions—and thank you for the work that you do! Is there anything you want to plug?

Marisa: Working the Roots by Michele E. Lee is a book that I am plugging as much as possible. It’s such an incredible text—it has wonderful recipes and documents beautiful histories. It was such an anchor for me as an herbalist when I first started doing this work and I find myself going back to it again and again.

Val: I have shop updates once per moon cycle and the next one will be on February 22nd!

Aviva: My sister and I are starting our newsletter on Substack called The Gold Road, about many different things pertaining to wellness, sustainability, art and life, debuting later this month. 

links to love stories:

Red Table Talk — “Our Unique Union (Part 2)”

“Our characters were trying to have a relationship. If you’re going to wear a mask, then the person’s trying to love your mask. They’re trying to love the image that you’re presenting, but that’s not what you really need.”

The Astro Poets Podcast — “Aminatou Sow on Chosen Families and Friendship”

“How do you say to the world, ‘This is my person’? You don’t have to be f*****g them, you don’t have to be related to them by blood, you don’t have to live under the same roof as them. But as modern adults, how do we say, ‘This is my person that I want to choose to go through life with’?’”

NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert — Allen Stone

“This next tune is another song I wrote about my wife, man. I’ve been full-on, face-first in love for quite a while now and I got a bunch of really good tunes out of it.”

Everything Happens with Kate Bowler — Mia Birdsong: Community as a Verb

“I’m trying to be mindful of orienting myself to moving at the pace of people around me. We’re all conditioned to try to move at the pace of patriarchy, capitalism, and white supremacy, not at the pace of love and humanity and liberation. And if you and I talk at the speed of liberation, I imagine you’ll be less out of breath.”

I promise: In July, I was working on a letter for you. And in August. September, November. It was the same letter, centered around the same quote, taking slightly different iterations each time. I think there were a couple of things at work: 1) The topic of the letter scared me, though I didn’t realize that when I started it. 2) I didn’t want to wrestle with it. 3) It was easier to avoid.

In July, I wanted to write about citizenship and belonging: The ways we truly don’t belong, the ways we are made to feel as if we don’t, and the ways we separate our own selves. It felt relevant—I was reading things and conversations kept coming up that touched on those topics. It was the 4th of July and then Juneteenth. To be honest, I was feeling frustrated (by basic conversations—people not knowing what Juneteenth was, people talking about race and racial politics with less than a 101 understanding). I was not feeling generous. But I also liked and was liked by someone—someone out of my comfort zone who is kind but doesn’t share many of my politics, whose approach to the world is similar to mine in some ways and very different in others, who is white and grew up in the South—and I was struggling to reconcile what it all *meant* (oh, the plight of being a ruminator), especially since I was in the midst of a dating hiatus. I was scared—that it was too much, that I wasn’t ready, that I would be repeating old patterns (all which turned out to be true in a sense). But I also found myself less frustrated with what he did not know, more willing to explain, more willing to go back and forth. It didn’t feel like he had an agenda (though maybe I did). It felt like he was just listening.

Here is another truth: This will not be that letter.

*

In July, in service of the vanished quote, I spoke with Eric Eddings, a host and producer for The Nod (soon to be a daily video show on Quibi), about telling the stories of black people. Eric was gracious with his time and in sharing his work. Listen for a taste of what that letter might have been like. Listen to hear the vanished quote. And listen for a great conversation with someone doing incredible work.

Explore more of Eric’s work:

The Deacons — Eric tells us about a group in 1960s Bogalusa, Louisiana called the Deacons for Defense and Justice. The Deacons mobilized on the day of Malcolm X’s assassination to protect black families against the Klan. As a kid, Eric’s mother was one of those who were protected.

The Rise and Fall of Black TV (feat. Erika Alexander) — Eric and Erika’s rapport is tangible in this piece where she discusses being on some of the most iconic black shows of all time (so far): The Cosby Show and Living Single.

The Hairstons Part 1: Snakes on a Plantation — Ever Lee Hairston grew up on the same plantation that her ancestors worked on—and that is still owned by the people who enslaved her family. This is her story. (And yes, Ms. Hairston is alive right now.)

The Hairstons Part 2: Diary of a Mad Black Cousin — Somewhere in North Carolina, there’s a joint family reunion every year for the descendants of those who were enslaved and those who owned slaves. But this particular year? Ever Lee Hairston has decided she’s had enough.

* * *

And now, on to January.

I heard this song on the radio last week. It came on while I was pulling my car into the garage. As the synths swelled and Maxwell crooned, I closed the garage door, sat in the car with only headlights as illumination, and listened. Maxwell’s singing about a love he once had—it didn’t work out and it left him broken. There’s always an opportunity to love again, but now he’s at a crossroads: He could choose to stay in his brokenness and let time pass him by, or he could try to work it all out.

I’ve been listening to this song a lot since I heard it. It’s not even as if this was the first time I’ve ever heard it, but it was the first time I heard it since I’ve been an adult, and the first time I heard it where I really understood what was being sung. Now, I’m an R&B girl, but it just feels like a higher frequency vibe. The song isn’t conclusive, but it *feels* like he’s finally ready to work it out. I think the important thing, the thing that resonates, is that he has a choice and he recognizes it. On a certain level, it may feel more comfortable to remain broken. Brokenness is the devil he knows; healing may be the devil he doesn’t. (And let’s make no mistake: the process of healing? It can certainly feel like a devil.) But actively choosing to heal opens the door to so much more. Even outside of the topic at hand, I’ve been thinking about discipline and (life) work and building toward living my ideal life. I think that’s part of why it resonates—it feels like a new year’s song. Or maybe my new year’s song.

Since I was fifteen or so, the new year has always brought on something like a mini existential crisis. I remember sitting at church during the watch night service, scribbling down thoughts about being fifteen and what I hoped to accomplish when I was sixteen. My new year and *the* new year always coincide. For the most part, every year since then, and maybe some years before then, I’ve approached the new year with at least a little bit of dread. In my mind, getting older meant less time to accomplish what I wanted to, less time to be “gifted” or a “prodigy.” This year felt different though. The idea of 27 seemed comfortable, rather than scary. 27 is still new, but it feels kind of like it’s the age I’m supposed to be. Like I’m doing the work.

I’ve been in the process of letting go of what I think *should* be and the desire to achieve or accomplish something at a specific age. I’m starting to recognize that if I am lucky to live a long life, it will always be a process of becoming. And that, in itself, isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

All that to say, I’ve been MIA here but not in my life. It’s easy for a new week, a new month, a new year to get lost in the grind. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels like we’ve already been in 2020 for a while. But at the same time, there are so many individual new years for each of us: our birthdays, an anniversary, a breakup, the start of school. Another time to say, yes, I’ve been renewed—even if it kinda feels like s**t in the process.

* * *

Things I’ve Liked Recently:

Book: The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read by Philippa Perry — The title rings true, but it’s also a book I’m glad I read as a person who isn’t a parent but has little people in her life. Perry is a psychotherapist and with this book, she wants readers to understand how their own upbringings (or even occurrences in their family line) can affect how they give care. She discusses ways to validate the feelings of little people (and also how to validate your own, if that wasn’t something that was taught to you), ways to break old cycles, and how to encourage your child’s voice and trust in themselves. Personally, I think it’s worth reading for people who don’t have kids and people who do, as well as people who may be on the fence because of unresolved family trauma.

Podcast Episode: LEVEL UP 2018 by Call Your Girlfriend — Have I mentioned that I’ve been really into personal growth for, like, my whole life? Then maybe it won’t come as a surprise that I appreciated this particular thing. Every year, Aminatou Sow and Ann Friedman have a podcast episode centered around the new year. On this year’s episode, Friedman mentioned something someone had said on 2018’s episode, so I went back to listen. In it, Sabrina Hersei Issa lays out her accountability plan—which includes scheduling a monthly personal inventory day. The rest of the episode is so-so, in my opinion, but I found this bit pretty revelatory.

Software: 1Password — Have you basically had the same password, in a couple variations, for every single one of your accounts since 5th grade? (Previously guilty.) If yes, 1Password may just change your life. You only have to remember one password (I promise, mine is not a variation of the 5th grade password)—once you unlock the app, it will create, enter, and remember auto-generated, hard-to-crack passwords for all of your important accounts. I was a little skeptical before taking the plunge—I didn’t think I needed a password manager. But it really has changed the game.

YouTube — It’s kind of to the point where I could probably cancel all my streaming services, but I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube. Dave Ramsey’s straight-talk financial advice, Bon Appétit’s Gourmet Makes, Glamour’s Money Diaries (this one is incredible. I also appreciate this one), Jennelle Eliana’s van life, Stephanie Buttermore’s fitness videos, Chloe Ting’s workouts, The Cut’s Truth or Drink.

Podcast Series: Making Beyoncé — Ever wanted to know how Beyoncé became… Beyoncé? This three-episode podcast series will give you a clue. I listened while driving up to Calistoga for a solo birthday trip. (Plus, if you’ve ever been interested in how Obama became Obama or Oprah, Oprah, check out their previous seasons.)

Recipe: Chicken-Lentil Soup with Jammy Onions — Despite having access to a dining hall, or maybe because of it, I used to cook a decent amount in college. I didn’t care how many ingredients there were in a recipe as long as it sounded good. As I’ve aged and cooking has become more of a “have-to” than a “want-to,” I’ve found myself disliking it. That’s something I want to change. This soup was one of the first recipes I made to try and get myself out of that rut—it’s light, filling, and comforting (the jammy onions and yogurt really take it to another level). Most importantly (for me), it doesn’t have too many ingredients and doesn’t take an incredible amount of time.

I believe in the idea of a test. Once, a couple of years ago, I told myself that I wasn’t going to date for the entirety of the upcoming year after a bad relationship. It was the end of December and I wrote about it on my semi-private Tumblr. And on January 1st, someone who I had matched with on Tinder at least a month before messaged me for the first time. And after thinking about it for a few brief moments, I messaged him back. We ended up seeing each other for six months, until I finally ended it. (“I like you even though you’re mean to me,” is something that I once said to him, verbatim.) But even in the moment of sending that first message, I felt like it was a test that I failed. My heart wasn’t set on the arrangements of my mind. Deciding not to date was a choice that I made out of hurt and out of fear of being hurt again, not out of true desire for change or reckoning or just something different.

I’ve been thinking a bit about how declaring something is the easy part. The real test comes in the day-to-day, in the small choices that collectively amount to who you are. A couple of days ago, I was talking to my brother about working out and how when I was practicing yoga, no matter how many days I had practiced previously, if I let just one day pass without doing it, it was easier to let another day pass, and then another day, and then another day, until it didn’t really feel like it was something I could say I did anymore. Just like yoga, accountability is also a practice. It’s built in the day-to-day, even—and maybe especially—in my relationship with myself. And even if it doesn’t feel like such a big deal in the moment, every time I let myself off the hook, I chip away at what’s been built.

Sometimes we aren’t ready for what we want to be ready for. But I like to imagine now that the choices I’m making, though perhaps also born of hurt, are ultimately rooted in conscientiousness, a belief in some form of goodness, and a concept of justice.

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Welcome (back) to Witness. It’s a once-monthly(ish) letter to you based around a quote that stands out to me. Each letter consists of a written component and an audio component. (If you missed the audio on the last two, feel free to go back! The writing and audio are meant to complement each other. This time, I called Jessica Dore and we talked about accountability, being tested, community, and more. Check out her Twitter and Instagram.) I hope reading and listening adds something to your day. As always, thank you for being here.

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Here are some articles I liked this month:

“Down and Out in the Gig Economy” by Jacob Silverman

“Men Have No Friends and Women Bear the Burden” by Melanie Hamlett

“Rejection kills” by Elitsa Dermendzhiyska

And here’s a book:

Three Women by Lisa Taddeo

Incredible simply because it gives voice to so many real issues, Three Women considers desire through the lens of the lives of three women of different ages and from different places. I found it so (terribly) relatable and pushed it onto a friend as soon as I was done reading. (It’s out in July.)

I’ve been listening to “Let It Flow” by Toni Braxton on repeat for the last thirty minutes. I have never been good at letting things go. Even as a child, I considered myself to be a great grudge-holder. I’ve always thought I wanted to be well, but it is just so hard to forgive or forget, let alone doing both of those things at the same time. It feels, sometimes, like I’ve become a queen of broken hearts, of hurt and pain that builds on the layers that were previously left.

I thought I wanted to be well, but it is easier not to be—easier to lash out, easier to be the smaller person, easier to confront the ways that you are hurt but not the ways that you hurt. I would wonder why I always had to be the bigger person when the other party, usually older than me, was not willing to do the same. It is easier to be petty, to assume worst intentions, to be unthinking and therefore, often, unkind.

A month ago, I told my friend that I had been feeling weirdly emotional. I’ve always cried at movies and TV, much more so than my own life, but now I found myself tearing up while walking or singing or driving. Years ago, I read something about how sometimes people who are quick to cry at movies but not at their own lives are overcompensating emotionally within the context of a space that feels safe. Maybe that’s true. But now, my “safe space” was spilling out into other areas of my life. In the conversation with my friend, we started talking about therapy—I haven’t been since college—and she mentioned an Instagram post she had seen a few times. It discussed how while talk therapy is great and useful for those who can access it, a very low percentage of the trauma that happens to us is accessible through the part of the brain that can process language. And that things like singing and dancing and running can be just as much of an outlet as talking, because it can allow us to process trauma that we don’t even know we’re processing or that we don’t even consciously know we have, including the trauma that sits in our bodies, not our minds. It also explains, my friend said, why communities that have been historically oppressed, but don’t have access to talk therapy, have been able to survive for so long. It’s already ingrained in us. We can practice collectively, as opposed to individually. And in these ways, we’ve created our own therapy. 

This year, I’m trying to create my own therapy. I want to erase the layers, rather than building upon them. After spending most of 2018 (the hardest year of my life so far, in so many ways) in a deep depression, I spent the end of 2018 thinking about how I wanted things to change. First and foremost, I decided that I want to be for myself what I often desire from others, particularly in romantic dabblings. No more waiting for someone to come along and sweep me out of my routine—I was going to do it myself. I was going to be my motivation and my champion and my provider. I started practicing yoga and going to workout classes. I started hiking. I started this newsletter. I enrolled in a self-defense class. I got a new job. I started an online course about love with some friends. I started singing as loud as I want to while driving my car. I dance, almost on the daily. I’ve been making more time for people I love, reaching out and hanging out. I have been asking myself questions and listening for the answers. I have been planning for and creating what I want.

But even as I try to create this for myself, I recognize that any progress I make in my attempts at being well don’t solely stem from me. I’ve read books by people more knowledgeable than me, learned yoga via a wonderful (and free) YouTube series called Yoga with Adriene (and before that, took a free class in Bryant Park with Bee Creel, who was equally wonderful), and been in the orbit of an amazing self-defense instructor and an amazing group of women practicing it. One of my cousins dragged me hiking when I didn’t want to go (spoiler alert: I loved it). Another literally drove across town to give me a hug when she heard in my voice that I wasn’t okay. And my friends, man! My (girl) friends are incredible—they have let me vent and cry and not know things. They have commiserated and told me they thought I was right and told me they thought I was wrong, sometimes in the same conversation. They have told me hard things I needed to hear (and still loved me when I didn’t listen and they were right). They have supported me and been there for me and laughed with me about funny s**t when I didn’t want to talk about the painful s**t or, sometimes, laughed with me alongside the painful s**t. They have remembered important dates and congratulated me and wished me luck. My friends help keep me alive. In a sense, they have always been the loves of my life. 

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Weeks ago, another friend and I were talking about the idea of dedicating a year to healing and how it kept coming up in regular conversation—more specifically, the idea that this year is a year of healing for many different people. We talked about healing as a commitment. She wondered if it is a commitment that can be flexible. I wondered if it’s the type of commitment that you either make or you don’t.

I haven’t gotten all of this right. There are times when I’m sure I haven’t gotten any of it right. But I’m trying. I believe that healing yourself heals your family line—that the pains and traumas that came before you can end with you. Maybe that’s too simplistic, but it’s a nice thought: that I don’t have to pass down trauma to my children or pass trauma to others in my interactions with them, that it is not inevitable. That I can leave the campground better than I found it, so to speak. It doesn’t mean that I’ll never feel pain again, but that I’ll know how to deal with it in healthy ways, that I can accept what is for me and let go of what isn’t, that I can walk in the world with kindness and compassion at the center of everything I do. It means that if we do the work, another world is possible.

Here’s to creating another world, for all of us.

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Things I’ve Liked Recently:

Quiet by Susan Cain

I’ve never been afraid to claim introversion for myself but there are lots of people who do feel that trepidation. This book delves into why (in a nutshell, in the U.S., we’ve basically been collectively brainwashed), and also why there shouldn’t be any—introverts are pretty awesome. Quiet is fascinating, combining anecdotes, scientific studies, tips on working with, loving, and parenting introverts, and much more.

Fyre Fraud

This documentary is a wild ride. It considers how a man in his late 20s was able to con people out of millions of dollars, but also what people will do (and lose, really) for charisma and status and the pretense of luxury. I find grifter stories to be pretty interesting and I’m not alone in that, as evidenced by how they’ve seemed to come out every couple of months for the last year and a half or so. 

Homecoming: A Film by Beyoncé

This is a film of Beyoncé’s Coachella performance, essentially with interludes of her life gearing up to the show. It is phenomenally inspiring, as anything she touches tends to be. (The only reason I resubscribed to Netflix was to watch this film. If you didn’t already know, I am an unapologetic stan.)

The Friend Zone by Abby Jimenez

I don’t typically read many romance novels but I’ve always been a(n undercover) romantic, even if I’m more of a cynical one these days. With that said, The Friend Zone is so delightful and kept me laughing all throughout the book. It’s nuanced and sad at parts, but ultimately just a great story. And it takes a look at dealing with infertility, which (I’m told!) is unconventional for the genre. I had plans with a friend one Saturday and stayed in instead to finish it. It’s out on June 11th.

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And I like giving things, so here’s a giveaway: Send me a message by May 10th about one way that you want to be well for a chance to win a “Humble Learn a New Language Bundle” (3 months of access to Spanish, French, and German language learning subscriptions + Lonely Planet e-guidebooks for Barcelona, Paris, Rome, Tokyo, and Beijing. You can gift one or all keys).

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As always, if you care to, let me know what you think! Like I said last time, if you’ve ever corresponded with me, you probably know I can be bad at responding, but I promise that I read it. And, as always, thank you for being here.

Until next time.

I first read this quote when I was a senior in high school. We were reading Arcadia by Tom Stoppard in my AP English Lit class and even then it stood out to me. So much, that I added it to the ‘about me’ section of my now-defunct Facebook page.

I think I often fear being trapped—in a job, in a relationship, in a city. I have started to accept that I am more commitment-averse than I usually let on, that fleeing feels encoded in my DNA, much like my melanin or perhaps my copper deficiency (though that’s still, as yet, unknown). I’m trying to learn to temper my expectations, to see certain things as they are rather than as I hope they could be, especially when it comes to the daily act of being human. (Though of course, there is a time and a place for high expectations.) But I’m also learning not to put all my eggs in one basket. I need choices. A choice allows me to put things in perspective—it can show me how good or bad or lukewarm I feel about something that I previously didn’t have a barometer for.

For most of my life, I have been on a path that has felt dedicated to doing what looks good to other people. Let’s call it ‘things my parents can brag about.’ But now I’m trying to figure out what exactly looks good, and feels good, to me. It’s certainly been a process and I’ve relapsed in both thought and action, but I am here, attempting to carve out my own path and create my own alternative.  

This past year has taught me a lot about chasing alternatives, big and small. It is not all fun and games, and it is often not easy. But hopefully, it turns out to be worth it. Life is hard but I’m learning.

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Hello there. Welcome to Witness. I’m hoping that this will be a once-monthly letter to you based around a quote that stands out to me. As of now, each letter will consist of a written component and an audio component. (Of course, that’s subject to change with my whims.) I hope reading and listening adds something to your day. Thank you for being here.

If you care to, let me know what you think! If you’ve ever corresponded with me, you probably know I can be bad at responding, but I promise that I read it.

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In case you’re interested, for Shondaland, I interviewed Jessica Dore, a tarot reader and clinical social work grad student, about using tarot as a therapeutic tool. You can find the piece here.

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Things I’ve Liked Recently:

The Odd Woman and the City by Vivian Gornick

In her late 70s when the book was published, Gornick meditates on friendship, love, living without a partner, and New York. Aside from some misgivings I had regarding depictions of race, it is quite lovely.

Heart Berries by Terese Marie Mailhot

I loved this book. In it, Mailhot discusses growing up on the Seabird Island First Nation reservation, her relationships with her mother and father, her relationships with men, getting married as a teenager, having her children, having herself committed to a psychiatric ward and getting diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar II, and so much more. It’s real and uncomfortable, beautiful and relatable all at the same time. (Full disclosure: I did actually listen to this on audiobook, but if I could do it over again, I might read it.)

Amy (documentary)

This film illustrates what a major talent Amy Winehouse was (and so young!), but also how terrible so many of us were to her when she was alive and how the machine of fame just chews people up and spits them out. I remember the jokes and headlines when I was in high school and it’s pretty terrible to reflect on now.

Roma (film)

I haven’t had a Netflix subscription for the last couple of months, so I ended up seeing this one in theaters. If you haven’t seen it already, Roma is a really beautiful (and devastating) film. If it were up to me, it would have won Best Picture at the Oscars.

Spotify Cosmic Playlists by Chani Nicholas

Remember when people would make mix CDs for each other? Chani’s basically making one just for you (and everyone else who shares your sun sign—but you’ll probably hear a song you like or that feels very relevant to your life. I have!) And she makes a new one every month.

Hearts Beat Loud (film)

This is just a very sweet film about love and how a daughter and father living together in Red Hook (sort of) accidentally start a band the summer before she goes to college. My friend recommended it to me in December and I still think about it.

Pocket (app)

I don’t know why I was so resistant to this, but it really is a game-changer. I pocket articles, recipes, things I’m interested in buying, and restaurants I want to visit, and I can access everything on both my phone and my laptop or any other device I may be using.

A question: We are already four months into the year, but it’s still pretty new. What do you want to do with the rest of it?

Until next time.